


Monster Like Me

by GawkyGhostie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Dot, Child Kyle, Childhood Friends, Complete, First Meetings, Gen, Implied abuse, Imprisonment, Kids Help Each Other, Supernatural - Freeform, magical powers, magical universe, sorta anyway lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GawkyGhostie/pseuds/GawkyGhostie
Summary: They were all just rumors, quiet mutterings and hushed tones that went silent after the first few days once the guards grew bored with the idea. Idle chatter. Duty talk to pass the time. But Dot vividly clings onto it.Is it true? Did Baxter capture another monster?
Relationships: Dot Pennington(oc) and Bea Smith(oc), Dot Pennington(oc) and Kyle Reeves Graham(oc)





	Monster Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be a full fledged piece back in October, I wrote this much of it before my friend and I grew interested in turning the concept into an RP instead. So it never got "finished". But! I thought I'd share since it's Kyle and Dot's first true meeting back when they were kids. Dot's eleven here and Kyle about sixteen.

Watchful eyes keep their focus on the guarded door ahead of the long, dimly lit hallway, peeking around the corner of the adjacent wall with an almost heightened determination. They stay low, or as low as they can get, morphing all of their figure but their lone eye into hidden smog and dust as they vanish themselves in mostly sidelong shadows. The two guards ahead chat idly with each other to pass the time, about their work, about their current lives, about what’s currently behind the bolted, heavily locked door, and Dot waits in baited patience as their conversation drawls on and on and on. Come on – can’t they hurry it up? One of them is bound to leave at some point – Marcus and Allen are the least attentive of the bunch on guard duty, or at least that’s what the ghost has noticed these past few nights they’ve been watching – one of them is going to leave soon, they just know it. Or they better, at least. They’re not really on a specific time limit, but Bea’s sure to check in on them at some point in the night, and if she sees that they’re missing from bed, they’ll be in so much trouble. She won’t let them hear the end of it, for sure. But they’ve already waited this long already, and they don’t want it to be for nothing, not when this is their best chance to –

Marcus mumbles something about having a smoke and taking a quick piss, the larger excusing himself as his companion nods in response, and dark purple-pink mist almost perks upwards. _Finally_. Feels like that took _forever_.

As the older guard disappears from view, Dot sticks to the shadows lining the bottom most corners of the hallway, thinly spread particles remaining hidden and out of sight. They’re equal parts nervous and excited as they sneak and flit about, carefully meandering about the shallow crevices of chipped drywall as they quietly rise and linger above Allen from behind. Dot holds their metaphorical breath as they hover above the man, waiting for the right moment before making a move. If they time this wrong, they’ll surely be caught, and the thought of dealing with the two guards wrath sends nothing short of sharp jolts of fear through their bones. But they can do this – they’ve done it many times before without being found out, and for much lesser things – there’s no way they’re not going to see what’s behind that door, not after they’ve heard the rumors circling about.

The man shifts his position, his hand rising to cover his mouth as he yawns – and Dot instantly moves on the chance. Mist suddenly sweeps around the guard’s closed eyes, lying in wait, and as Allen’s eyelids lift, his pupils grow dilated, once brown irises now fading into purple until mist overtakes the entirety of his eyes, and the man’s head slowly falls forwards into a deep upwards slumber as purple haze lifts from his body. Dot smiles to themselves, at least mentally, figure still remaining non-corporeal and misty despite their stealthy success. It’s not over yet, though, not even close – they still need to get behind that door. Which proves to be the least difficult obstacle they face as they simply weave themselves through the natural gape underneath the door frame, particles of smoke merely fitting themselves through the crack with ease, and it’s only once the youth has squeezed themselves onto the other side of the barricade that their misty figure forms into their true physical being.

The first thing Dot notices is that it’s _freezing_. Small arms wrap around their shoulders as they shiver, the jarring chill leaving heavy goosebumps on their pale skin, and the child huffs quietly as a shiver wracks their body, leaving their teeth chattering briefly. It’s completely pitch black, no light to be found whatsoever, and a small twinge of fear eats at the youth’s insides. They quickly form fluffy white wings on their back to compensate for the lack of light, snow-colored feathers emanating a soft, almost warming glow, and the ghost uses the newfound illumination to look about the well-known space. Frost outlines the edges of the room, from the banister to the door frame to the corners of the floor, and even a few dangerous looking icicles hang from the ceiling. Dot admires their impressive shape, even in the darkness of the room as the light from their wings causes the ice to glimmer and reflect in seemingly endless areas, and the beautiful shimmer of the ice captures their fascinated attention. But curious purple eyes now flit about elsewhere, legs walking forwards and deeper into the room with caution as they try not to slip and fall on the frozen floor beneath their bare feet. They can see their breath in front of their face as they stare forwards, irises catching the many different…hurtful tools lining the side of the wall on a frosted rack, and the ghost’s exhale catches in their throat as flesh seizes. Don’t think about those. Don’t. Don’t don’t don’t.

And they don’t, because something else steals their attention, something that moves softly and makes a slight jingling noise, and as Dot faces completely forward to stare at whatever made the quiet sound in the dark, they abruptly stop in their tiny tracks. There’s a boy – or at least, something they _think_ is a boy – chained up to the wall behind him with arms outstretched wide and ankles bound. His head hangs downwards, out of sight and obscured by thick brown locks of hair. Cream colored ears sit atop his head, turned towards their direction, and a large, very fluffy tail rests still and almost lifeless against the stone floor. Impressive black wings fold and tuck roughly against the boy’s back, and Dot takes quite an interest in those, even leaning their head forwards a touch to get a better look – they’ve never seen anyone else with wings before. They didn’t even know they could be a color other than white. Can he make them go away like they can? Can he fly? Dot’s never flown before. They’re not allowed to. One of Baxter’s stupid rules. It’s forbidden. Maybe this boy could show them how. He doesn’t look _too_ much older than them.

Why is he chained up like this? The rumors are true, then? About Baxter capturing another monster? A monster like them?

Amethyst hues drift downwards towards the floor, noticing a mixture of red and – black. Something black, and thick, and sludge like that drips from his body, mingling with what they can already tell is blood. He’s hurt then. Is he alright? He certainly doesn’t _look_ alright.

There’s a shift, then, a rattling of the chains, and small shoulders stiffen as large eyes widen, yet they don’t shy away completely. Dot leans their head in towards the stranger, eyeing him for any sign of life or stirring from slumber, any indication that he might lift his head or twitch his fingers or –

 _Loud_ roaring reaches their ears in a ferocious, feral-like growl as the boy – no, the _beast_ raises his head to stare viciously at them with slit eyes, his furry ears slanted backwards as sharp, pointed teeth bare at them in a menacing snarl, and Dot instantly startles at the sight, the child jumping as they squeal and quickly cover their mouth tightly with clasped hands. There’s blood and black ooze dripping from fierce canines, sludge falling from electrifying eyes like tears – but that’s all Dot dares to witness as they speedily deform into shaky mist, motions erratic and hurried as they slip through the cracks of the frosty door, and it’s only once they’re safely back in their quarters far from Baxter’s section of their home do they reform themselves, purple eyes stark wide and chest heaving in quickened paces.

That – that was – that thing was _terrifying_. Loud, and snaring, and houndish, and –

Dot shudders at the thought, the image appearing in their mind as they bite their lip. It really _was_ a monster then, like some of the men were saying. A monster-person-thing. Just like them. Much scarier though, definitely. Threatening with those large teeth and alarming growl, just like Baxter. But he was hurt, and Dot wasn’t supposed to be there – maybe he’s scared? They get scared too when Baxter takes them to his special place. His punishments are really painful. And unfair. Who is he? Why is he there? Did Baxter find him like he found them? Is he going to be a part of their family now? Can he change his body like they can? Does he mist too?

He certainly looked scary, but maybe he’s not so bad. They used to look scary too. Maybe he just needs some help. Or some guidance. They could show him how to stop being scary if he wants.

Dot walks towards their meager bed in the darkness, kneeling to the ground by the mattress as a tiny hand reaches underneath the drapery that touches the cold, hard floor. They reach around, arm flitting from one section to another until dainty fingers brush against something hard and flat, and the ghost grasps the object in their hand as they pull it out from underneath the bed. The loose-leaf journal in their palm is small, more of a notepad than an actual notebook, but they hold it close to their chest as they climb into bed, pulling the covers over their body as they splay the book out on their thin sheets. White wings mist and form on their back, the light the newfound limbs emit gentle and glowing as they brighten the dark, and the child grasps at a pencil hidden in coiled, metal binding as they draw images of a snarling, oozing monster boy through the night.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Bea? Who’s the boy they’re keeping locked up in Baxter’s special place?”

The older woman stays silent, focusing on her task and ignoring the youthful pesters. She continues her downwards motion, the mortar and pestle grinding with crunching noises as different herbs and seeds crack under the pressure, and she inhales deeply for a moment before exhaling a sparkling, crystal-like dust akin to glitter into the occupied earthen bowl on the counter.

Dot lingers by her side, tugging at the cloth of her pants as they look upwards at her tense face, still trying to capture her attention despite their guardian’s obvious acquittal. “Is he dangerous?”

The woman sighs quietly, pausing her movement, and stern brown eyes look into curious purple; although her gaze falters in focus, her calloused hands do not. The firm, hard expression that greets the smaller matches the older’s almost warning tone. “Don’t ask questions. You’ll get in trouble again.”

Bea’s apparent displeasure at their inquisitive musings does nothing to quell Dot’s inquiring attitude, and her unofficial scolding meets unphased interest. Amethyst continues staring upwards, and fluffy hair shifts as the younger tilts their head slightly, small hands gripping tighter onto fabric as they use the cloth to pulls themselves upwards and closer to the woman.

Purple eyes nearly gleam in the dull light of the kitchen, curious and excited, and darkened mist flickers and twists as it crawls up muscular legs in wisps. “I heard Dennis and Bruce call him a monster. Is he a monster like me?”

The bear sighs deeply, fingers at last pausing their crushing motions as she sets the woodenware aside. She turns to face the youth once again, kneeling herself downwards to the ghost’s eye level. Large hands rest gently on tiny shoulders, and although the face staring back at the child remains stiff, brown eyes hold a tender softness.

“You are not a monster, my child,” she states softly, deep voice calm and deadest in hardy certainty. Small droves of smog now encircle and flit about the pair steadily instead of merely clinging at long limbs. The glimmer of eagerness dulls from amethyst pupils, replaced with quieted, almost begrudging understanding, and the slight smile on small lips relaxes and fades. Bea squeezes those shoulders gently. “Now stop talking about it.”

The older woman rises to her feet, taking her strange mix of items from the bowl on the counter and dumping it into a cup of water, and Dot almost instantly pouts, a displeased frown on their face. Their grip on their guardian remains steadfast, and mist flickers about in erratic tufts, puffing and deflating in places at the young one’s displeasure. “But that boy –”

“No more chattering,” the woman reaffirms, turning to look down on the child with created mixture in hand, and her voice resounds much more firmly than before, almost dangerously stern. “I don’t want you thinking about that creature. And I don’t want you anywhere _near_ Baxter’s quarters, either. Understood?”

Bea stares down at them almost harshly, and Dot’s shoulders slump, falling with their arms as mist dies down and settles around their legs, interweaving among itself slowly and shyly. The ghost nods a few times, small and in quick succession, and their tone deflates significantly as they speak quietly. “Yes, Bea.”

The woman’s face softens, as does her voice. “Good.”

She kneels once again down at the child’s level, outstretching the glass with the odd mixture for Dot to take. “Now drink your medicine.”

The younger twiddles their fingers, frown deepening at the request, but they do as they're told. Dainty hands grasp at the cup, downing as much of it in one go as they can, and the child shakes their head once they’re done, face scrunching heavily in tense distaste. They cough lightly, swallowing as they try to remove that _awful_ flavor from their mouth, and Bea takes the now empty cup from their hands to wash at the kitchen sink.

Purple eyes flit to the floor as purple-pink particles hug at their shoulders. They won’t be getting any answers about that boy from Bea, then.

They’ll just have to find answers for themselves.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bea keeps a close eye on them, even closer than usual, her nightly checkups occurring much more often to the younger’s impatient annoyance, but their guardian is out on a special mission tonight courtesy of Baxter, and the ghost takes their chance.

It’s actually _easier_ to get past the guards this time, most of the important members of their family out for the special mission tonight. There’s only one guy hanging around, some new person who’s name they don’t know, and while they’re a bit nervous to pull a fast one on a man who’s habits they don’t know, it’s actually pretty easy. Even easier considering the fact that the guards won’t change for another two hours or so. They’ve got plenty of time, unlike the other night.

Not that they really got to use their time before, anyway, with getting spooked and all, but they know what to expect this time around, so they’re a little less scared. Really.

As the unknown guard slumps his head, lost in a deeply induced slumber, Dot wastes no time in squeezing their misty form through the slit cracks of the door frame, bringing themselves to physicality once again as small wings glow in the dark. Purple eyes gaze upon icicles once again, eying them briefly, and they’d swear there’s more of them this time, longer, sharper, more angled – but they try not to let themselves get distracted.

The ghost walks forwards, slow and cautious, and bare feet pat lightly once again against the hard, freezing floor, feathers quaintly lighting up the area as they tread.

“Um…hello?” they call out, quiet and hesitant, both for the sake of not being heard from outside and from their own jittery nerves, and the younger once again hears the rattling of a chain. They take a few small steps forward, staring straight ahead as they walk meagerly – and soon enough impressive wings and fluffy ears come into sight, illuminated by the light of their wings. Green, slit eyes stare _right_ at them, tense and drawn in a manner that’s almost snarling, and they way his pupils thin remind Dot of a cat, briefly. But his immediate glare unnerves them, as if he had been _waiting_ for them in the dark to approach, fierce expression at the ready, and the child swallows as they take one meager step back with wide purple eyes.

But they collect themselves. He’s not growling or snarling at them like last time – upon closer inspection, though, they can see why. There’s a gag around the boy’s mouth, tight and painful looking as it digs into his skin, and there’s black goop-y stuff dripping past it. There’s a lot of that weird sludge stuff, actually. Blood, too.

Tiny white wings flutter against their back.

They take a few steps closer, but the boy recoils back as much as he can in his chained and bound position, the tension and harsh look on his face deepening with their movement. Dot stops in their tracks.

“It’s okay,” Dot almost soothes quietly, giving the boy a gentle, but very curious look. “I’m not gonna hurt you, promise. I’m a friend.”

His scathing scowl doesn’t falter as he continues to eye the smaller suspiciously, and wisps flutter and swirl about the child’s neck in uncertain patterns. They bite their lip, unsure of what to do, exactly, but an idea seems to come to mind as wings perk and mist straightens itself.

“Look,” they state, extending one arm upwards slightly, and the limb steadily begins to dissipate into colorful smoke, weaving and pulsing about as it wanders, before settling down to reform their small arm once more. Purple hues stare at the boy with an almost excitement. “I’m a monster too, see? Oh, and –”

They turn themselves around until their back faces the stranger, white wings extending and flutter in a hushed flurry as the air from them makes their hair sway, and the child quickly turns back around to face him once again. “I’ve got wings, too. Yours are black, though. I didn’t know they could be black. Can you fly?”

Dot stares inquisitively, almost expectantly, but the boy’s face retains its fierceness. The firm expression falters slightly as he stares, the once fierce look morphing into something confused, almost befuddled as he tilts his head slightly, and although he soon looks at them dangerously once more, the demeanor seems more subdued, almost cautious. The ghost continues to wait for an answer, silence following, and they’re about to speak up again when purple eyes land on the older’s gag once more.

Oh. Right. He can’t really talk with that on, can he?

Should they take it off? They’ll get into some serious trouble if they’re caught.

…Well, gags can slide off, right? They assume so, anyway.

Curiosity wins over caution as the spirit takes one more step forward, eyeing the boy with large purple hues. “I’m gonna take off your gag, okay? Hold still. And don’t scream or anything, or else you’ll get us both in trouble.”

Dot takes a few more steps towards the boy, tiny hands reaching outwards to the side of his head. It’s a bit nerve-wracking, especially with how he just… _watches_ them. He doesn’t even blink. But he doesn’t shy away either, doesn’t recoil or lash out or push them away with his larger body, even when they’re standing right in front of him, close enough to brush their small fingers against messy, wild brown hair as they work to undo his bind. It takes a moment, the younger struggling a bit with the firm knot, and Dot bites their lip gently as they focus, but the cloth comes undone soon enough, falling from the boy’s mouth as it loosens and falls to the floor, and Dot can’t help but smile at their own handiwork as they take a few steps backwards, once again putting some distance between them.

“There you go,” they say, nodding their head slightly with a light smile on their face. “Better, right?”

The boy stays silent, but Dot takes no note at first as they observe him more closely now that they’re nearer to him. He is bleeding, and oozing that black stuff, but his wounds don’t look _too_ bad. Just painful. There are a few burn marks on his skin, mostly on his arms and neck, and Dot swallows thickly at the sight. They know those really hurt. Baxter’s fire is really, really hot. Why doesn’t he mist them away?

“Can’t you heal yourself?” they question, eyes darting between the boy’s face and his burns, an almost concerned expression on their face. “Why don’t you make the wounds go away? You’re like me, aren’t you?”

Or, he’s supposed to be, at least, another beast like them. Maybe he’s too weak to heal himself? Or maybe he doesn’t know how?

The ghost huffs slightly, exhaling through their nose, and purple hues rise to meet green as they shift on their feet. “I can help the pain go away. Don’t be scared, okay?”

Green eyes narrow at them at those words, but they pay it no mind. Mist forms along the edges of their eyes, the purple of their irises expanding and growing larger until they extend completely over their eyes, now entirely royal and misty in color. The particles float from their face and towards the boy in front of them, heading towards his own eyes, and although the older recoils from the strange smog, even grunting as he tries to avoid it, the wisps meet his own orbs, causing them, too, to completely turn into purple smoke. It lingers for a moment, the boy and the child still as magic stirs about the space, but purple-pink dust soon dissipates, returning to its host, and the pair sigh as Dot keeps themselves from stumbling.

They all but beam at the older boy before them. “See? Feels better, right?”

The stranger looks towards his wounds in confusion, eyeing them with a conflicted expression, as if he can’t decide what to think, but those same emeralds soon turn to face the child in front of him. He eyes the smaller up and down, taking in their sight as they smile at him, and although he still appears nervous, he no longer stares at them with menacing eyes. In fact, he’s looking at them rather still, save for his nerves.

He’s still pretty quiet, though. Dot wants to change that.

The youth sits on the floor, white dress falling about their bare legs as they sit cross legged in front of the boy, and almost eager expression on their face, and the older stares down at them with cautious curiosity. Black sludge and blood taints their rather pristine clothes, but the ghost doesn’t care. They hardly notice how the black slime gathers around them, seemingly drawn to their presence, either.

It’s hard for them to focus on anything other than green eyes and black wings in front of them, not when they have so many questions.

“Why are you here?” they ask inquisitively, bright, breathless voice echoing gently in the dark, cold space as they look up at him. “Are you _really_ a monster like me? Did Baxter find you? Are you gonna become part of the family now? Do you have special powers, too?”

Something wet and oily clings to their leg, and the sensation finally has Dot tear their gaze away from the other, purple hues landing on black slime attempting to crawl on their body. They look down at the substance with curious eyes, tilting their head slightly as they reach down to touch the blackened mass, and it gathers between their fingers in draping motions as they bring it up to their face. “What’s this black stuff? It’s coming off your body.” They comment, turning their hand about as they inspect the oily sludge. “Is it like my mist?”

The slime continues to try and climb atop them, weak and failing as it does so almost desperately, but the ghost doesn’t seem to mind, letting the odd stuff do as it pleases as it clings to their bare legs, and purple hues soon rise to meet green once more. “Can you control it? Is it alive, or something?”

Silence follows all their inquiries, and the child’s smile falters slightly, dimming into a more neutral expression. Not much of a talker, is he. _Can_ he talk? He growled at them before, so they know he can make noise, at least. Maybe he doesn’t know how to talk, or something?

Small fingers absentmindedly mingle with the slime at their legs, twirling their digits through it, almost playing with it as it attaches to their fingers. “Do you know how to speak?” they question further, thick lashes blinking as they continue to stare upwards. “I didn’t really know how to talk either for a long time, so I understand.”

He stays silent, and Dot keeps talking, simply eager to share company with him and this black stuff playing with their fingers and legs. They fill the space with their quiet, breathless voice, eager and inquisitive as they ask about him while talking about themselves, and although they don’t really get the answers they were looking for, it’s still nice to prattle on to someone like them. He’s big, and quiet, but not really that scary anymore.

The younger is in the middle of asking another of their questions when a low gurgling noise resounds softly, and Dot stops their talking to listen to the interrupting sound. Was that…stomach growling? Is he hungry?

“Oh!” Dot startles slightly, as if an obvious idea comes to mind. “Do you want some food? I can get some – ”

A loud noise from outside makes the smaller jump in their seat, purple hues widening, and the sudden motion leaves the black ooze around them shifting and jiggling. The faint sound of footsteps meets their ears, and the child almost freezes, body beginning to tremble slightly. Are they back already? Bea said they’d be gone all night for the big occasion. They need to get out of here – they need to get out of here _now_ – 

The younger rises hurriedly to their feet, sludge clinging to them needily, but the child pays it no mind, amethyst eyes wide as their body begins transforming and morphing into mist. They pause, though, only for a moment as they turn back to look at the boy still chained to the wall, and only their upper body floats in the air as they look back at him with big eyes.

“I’ll bring you some food later, okay? I promise,” they mutter to him quietly, purple staring into green before turning away as the rest of their figure dissipates into particles. They sneak under the door and back to their quarters in a rush, flurrying about as they once more keep to the shadows, and it’s with a heavy sigh of relief that they reform in their bedroom, chest once again lightly heaving, although for different reasons this time.

They should get to bed. Bea will probably check on them soon, if she’s back already.

Dot hurries themselves into bed, not bothering for their sketchbook this time, simply opting to pull the covers over their head as they attempt to calm themselves down from the excitement of the evening. Still, even with their racing nerves and thoughts, one particular question nags at their head almost persistently.

How are they going to sneak in some food?


End file.
